


iridescent

by 951004



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Jeon Wonwoo-centric, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, No Dialogue, Poetic, Poetry, Prose Poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 01:03:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12783549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/951004/pseuds/951004
Summary: and so, without a shadow of a doubt, he dove headfirst into those grand, galactic eyes





	1. and at last...

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by dylan and lily's relationship in the movie we bought a zoo

loneliness is a gap.

 

loneliness is a parasite that burrows a hole into our chests, eating away at all the light inside of us. we are but a shell of who we used to be.

 

and at 3am, as we lie feverish in our beds, sheets soaked in perspiration, the parasite reaches deep, deep, deep into the darkest corner of our minds and pulls, pulls, pulls. we cry out.

 

until another notices the gap...

 

and fills it.


	2. ...this is how...

no one cares for 

wonwoo.

 

in return, wonwoo cares for 

no one.

 

 _fair enough_ ,

he thinks.

 

after all, the only

person possessing any

form of affection

for him is

his mother. and she is

dead.

 

leaving him to navigate this

monstrous world with

no one but a father who

reeks of alcohol

and a sister who is

barely there.

 

now, the only thing keeping wonwoo

alive is

art.

 

he remembers his childhood, the

days where he sketched

without boundaries.

 

he recalls a

memory. it paints itself vividly upon

his eyelids; the boys at

school had mocked

him for his social

disability, and his vision had clouded

with red. he had locked himself

in a bathroom

stall. he had not

cried. instead, he had

drawn.

 

he had drawn: their

faces, marred with

gory scars; their

abdomens, stretched wide

open with their

insides on full

display; their

limbs, bent at horrible

angles. he had drawn

them, the very boys who had

jeered at him earlier, now

bloody beyond

recognition. pleasure had coiled its

way up his spine. wonwoo had

shivered.

 

his world turned into an

endless night, and this

museum of

hell is his

escape.

 

at school, the boys are

relentless. a freak, they

call him. the word is

spat cruelly at his face, spray-

painted in crude letters all

over his locker, his

desk, his front

door. wonwoo believes

them.

 

for a freak is precisely

what he sees, each and every

time he dares look in

the mirror. his

bright, curious eyes have

darkened astronomically.

 

he wonders what his

mother might have

thought, had she been

able to see what her

wonwoo, her precious

wonwoo, has

become.

 

he is but a shell of

who he used to be.

 

and so he continues

illustrating misery.

crimson spills from

the tip of

his paintbrush and onto

gruesome corpses, their jaws

slack with terror.

his artwork depicts

life through his eyes:

pitch

black.

 

until someone walks in

holding a lantern.


	3. ...he saw beauty

it is a he.

 

it is a he,

with his adorable

round cheeks

and silky black

hair that falls across

his forehead in

just the right way.

 

(wonwoo imagines how

soft those raven strands might

feel between his fingers.)

 

it is a he,

with a soft, kind

voice that sings

sweet as honey

and a softer, kinder

smile that outshone

the sun herself.

 

(wonwoo imagines how

envious she must

feel, looking upon this boy.)

 

it is a he,

with a set of

breathtakingly beautiful

eyes that tilted daintily

at the corners,

orbs of darkest brown.

 

and yet how

they shine,

how they dance,

as they bask

in the light.

 

wonwoo stares into

those twin pools of

bronze. he sees every

single colour he could

think of. he is

blinded. he stares some more.

 

 _iridescence_ ,

is all he thinks.

 

he heard of the term

in art class. it was when

an object seemed to

change colour as the

light hit it at different 

angles.

 

this boy catches

light with his

bare hands,

unafraid. this boy

radiates it,

overflows with it.

this boy has enough light to

shine for the

both of them.

 

he is also an

artist, in a way completely

opposite from wonwoo.

he was an artist in

the way he spread beauty

upon the world, akin

to paint upon a

canvas.

 

wonwoo does not

understand how someone

so bright and beautiful

can bear someone

so dark and hideous

as himself.

 

but the boy remains

sitting next to wonwoo.

he smiles, the very same

one wonwoo has grown

to adore. he says

that he likes wonwoo's artwork

very much.

 

later, wonwoo shone light into

his macabre world. he used

the brightest pigments and

the softest brushstrokes for

the boy's delicate features.

 

when he comes to the

eyes, wonwoo fails to pick

a single shade. he

skilfully blends every

paint he owns, and yet

the portrait's eyes are

lifeless in comparison.

 

on the last day of

the school year,

the boy demands

to walk wonwoo

home. he obliges

(embarrassingly quickly),

and the boy chuckles

fondly. colour floods

wonwoo's cheeks.

 

the temperature is

near-stifling, and a

lilac-scented breeze

floats through the air.

as always when wonwoo

is in the boy's presence,

he finds himself lost in

the colour of his irises.

 

when they arrive at

wonwoo's doorstep, the

boy rises up on his

toes, and presses his

rosebud lips gently to

wonwoo's cheek.

 

wonwoo watches a grin

crawl its way onto those

roseate lips, and knows

that happiness is not

out of his reach.

 

hours later, wonwoo can still feel

the ghost of his lips on

his cheek, and warmth blooms in

his chest once again.

he laughs.

 

he laughs until his

ribs ache, until his

lungs shriek for air,

and wonwoo

feels

alive.

 

possibilities went from

him to

the end of time.


End file.
